


Meetings

by Bioluminescent



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Character Study, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-08 09:25:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17978708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bioluminescent/pseuds/Bioluminescent
Summary: The Mighty Nein leave impressions on everyone they meet, and some are more positive than others.





	Meetings

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> No beta so all mistakes are my own

They always remind you of a storm, violent and jarring whenever they pass through town. They certainly act like one, sometimes taking care of gnoll packs with relish when they become a bit too daring, but they always come back, bloodied and bruised, grinning, pleased with their victory. Their words wash over you when they invite you to join them, always smiling, always happy to see you, and something warms deep inside you at the knowledge that they seem to care.

They seem to care about a watchmaster in a podunk town at the edge of an empire at war, trying their hardest for the people under their care, even as they discuss some things that they probably shouldn’t in front of one bound by the law, no matter how loosely. But it warms you. Warms you to know that this is how they treat you, like an equal, even as they sit there, glowing with magic and wonder and power and knowledge, rough and worn around the edges, but in the comforting way an old sweater is, soft against your skin and cozy.

They leave you in higher spirits than when they arrived and you are thankful for it.

~~~

They are kind to you, even when the purple tiefling is gone, and the large gentle firbolg has appeared in his place.

Naturally, they are annoyed, but they are kind in a way no one else really has been to you and your group. They give pointers, and occasionally, they give you money. They give you hope when you see them and they hold you at bay when you were the fools to try and rob them again in the first place.

The blue tiefling ends up giving you all tattoos given how often you cross paths, of a smiling toothy caricature of Captain Tusktooth, chattering away about stories you are pretty sure might be true about hydras, and pirates, and the world outside the empire.

When you get home, and pass out the goods your group has gained in the last haul on the roads, you smile at your wife and kiss her on the cheek. They gave you encouragement, and now you can start giving back.

~~~

They waltz into your life without a care in the world.

Subtlety is definitely not their strong suit, but they stick and cling to you with a loyalty that shakes you a little, seeing as how you met them a few days ago.

But nevertheless, you try and do your best by them, even as they drag you and the rest of the crew into pirate business, and finally get that fanatical elf killed. You get banished with them, and you sigh in relief as the two clerics jet the creaking and burned Squalleater to your destination.

Then they disappear for days, the large barbarian stoic, and calm, like a predator in waiting for those days, and when you pass by her you swear you can almost feel the electricity crackle over your shell and you understand why the rest of the crew are avoiding her.

And when they stumble out of that ball, when Jester crumpled to the group and hugs Nott, fear in her eyes and the way her hands tremble, satisfaction and resignation and pride in Nott’s even as she weaves on her feet in exhaustion. As the captain stares in shock, Beauregard the same next to him, and Caleb huddled in a corner as Caduceus looks over all of them, gently smouldering, smoky with little licks of flames and the scent of ozone and burned hair that only comes with lightning, you sigh again.

They try so damned hard, to protect those they have dragged kicking and screaming under their wings, by the gods do they try.

And when they return from a waterspout, running on water to catch the ship as another crests from a hidden cavern, they ready themselves, eager, willing, to protect or fight for their crew. You hear the whispers among the crew after, of the casual wave of the firbolgs hand that capsized your pursuers, of the sheer audacity of them to take on the survivors and then brand one with the captain as the price for their lives and food, of the massive bursts of flame from the weakest looking one of them. You hear the awe, and only a small amount of fear, but you mostly hear the pride. They may be assholes, but they’re your assholes.

And you can see the surprise in all of them, when you tell them the ship will always be the captains, no matter what the paper says. You know you will see them again, and that is enough.

~~~

They surprise you.

When you look at the motley group of them scattered across your couches, whispering amongst themselves about what not to show you, you see so much and so little at the same time.

The two who you had allowed in first, the monk and the firbolg are residing over the conversation with steely glares and a serene smile. The monk is less abrasive than you had expected, and you know how much effort it cost her, how much pride. The firbolg is calm in a way that speaks of deep knowledge, and it is enough to set you on edge.

The tiefling, with her pink haversack and whatever other strange object that they are reluctant to show you, is tinged with sadness, and chaos, as she chirps about the traveler to you and slides a pamphlet onto the table, your confusion pushed aside as the others of her group tell you to just let it happen. The half orc feels like darkness and deep oceans, of slow shifting power that builds like a wave until it is too late to run. The goblin is twitchy, clearly unsettled with everything, but cheerful for some reason. The celestial blood is nothing if not a powerhouse, and she watches over them with a careful eye, regarding you with distrust and a blank face.

The fledgling wizard, as you bring him up to the teleportation room, does not meet your gaze. He is wary, that much is obvious, but he takes your gift with an ease that is surprising. You prod a little, poking where you can, and you see as he reflexively stands straighter, as he meets your eyes even as uncomfortable as he is with it. You see grief, and strength, and a worrying flicker of flame in those blue eyes, and you wonder.

But when you look out across them as you lead him back down, as they discuss the flavors their biscuits are, you cannot help but see how blindingly _young_ they are. All of them. Compared to yourself and all your knowledge they are so young, and foolish, and brash, and you know that someday that will bite them in the ass if it hasn’t already. 

They leave, and you already know that if they can survive the chaos they unleash on the unsuspecting world, they will be remarkable.


End file.
